


The Halfblood Heir

by DilynAliceBlake



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, Hogwarts, Hogwarts AU, Magic, Magical Creatures, Witches, Wizards, for once in my fucking life, i hope this isn't as long as i think it's going to be, jeegus, look we all have regrets alright, probably the actual relationships from the play, witchery, wizardry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-07-26 15:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7579060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DilynAliceBlake/pseuds/DilynAliceBlake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander is a half blood immigrant with more secrets than it's safe to be keeping if you plan to go into politics, and as Heir to the Noble House of Washington, his number one goal is to improve creature rights.</p><p>If he wants to make it in wizarding society, he'll have to attend Hogwarts with fellow halfblood Aaron Burr, the Infamous Schuyler Sisters, and bag-of-dicks pureblood Thomas Jefferson; all while learning to navigate the complicated status system and trying not to let on to his roommates that he has gills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A young ship Commander on his first trek as leader makes a drastically wrong decision; the first of many.  He sails his men first into disaster, then into a massacre.  He watches them all willingly dive into the sea and drown.  Dozens of sets of scaly hands reach up from the murky water of a cove that the wizard didn't know was there. 

Terrified, he scrambles wildly for something else to focus on.

  
On the bough of his ship, watching the horror calmly, sits a lady in a strange dress of seaweed and water lilies.

  
"Why are they doing that?" he asks, and doesn't know if he means the crew or the hands.

  
The woman smiles with pointed teeth, and the ship's Commander notices that the fingers folded daintily on her lap are webbed.  The length of her sopping skirt does not hide the fish's tail peeking out from beneath it, and it's suddenly obvious that her hair is not wet from the rain.

  
"They hear my sisters' singing," the woman speaks slowly, as if he is dumb, or perhaps just in shock.  "I'm protecting you."

  
"Why?"

  
"Because, lucky for you, I don't particularly _want_ to kill you.  I have a deal to offer, instead."


	2. Chapter 2

George Washington peers closely at the scrawny boy munching tea cakes in his parlor, and is very tempted to curse.

 

"He _says_ ," Martha tells him with all the amused confidence of someone sure that they have all of the information someone else is lacking, "that he's your _son_."

 

George looks at the boys head of dark hair, and imagines it darkened and weighted by water.  He had always thought that his infertility was a byproduct of his pureblood lineage, but perhaps there is something more to it than that.

 

The boy looks very like the siren Washington made a trade with, that long ago day; but when he looks hard enough there is something else there too. Perhaps it's the set of his young jaw, or the emerging breadth of those uncomfortably narrow shoulders that has Washington considering it.  Then the boy looks up with eyes full of _hunger_ and _fire_ , and Washington knows without doubt that his past has caught up with him.

  
"I'd better meet him then," George says to his wife, and leaves Lady Washington spluttering stunned demands for an explanation.


	3. Chapter 3

The proximity ward had alerted Martha to the presence on her doorstep before the boy got a chance to knock.  He was a wizard, or he wouldn't have gotten that far, but he certainly didn't dress like it.  The boy was small, a tired looking thing that made some part of her want to feed and coddle him like he was some stray kneazle.

"Hello," he greeted awkwardly, "I'm looking for a sailor.  Or, he used to be a sailor, back before I was born.  Um, my father actually.  He was in a storm, and my mother helped him...  Sorry, I'm Alexander.  I'm not really from around here.  Actually, I, uh, have a drawing, somewhere..."

The boy rusted around in his bag until he pulled out a yellowed sketch with a sigh of relief.  Any good will Martha had towards the young immigrant was washed away when she caught sight of what was unmistakably a rendering of her husband.

"Please, if you could help, just give me a name, _anything_.  Everyone said you could help me.  I don't-" he stared at the steps beneath his feet to mumble, "I don't have anywhere else to go."

Perhaps it was a cruel joke, or a trick the boy had been paid to help in.  No one would ever think such a wild story was true, but from how he looked the could probably use the money enough to make a scolding worth it.

Whatever it was, Lady Washington wasn't going to stand for the indignity of being mocked.  She would invite the boy in, feed him up, and then let her husband send him on his way, repentant for his attempted deceit.

 


	4. Chapter 4

"Hello there, Son," Washington starts, the endearment tagging itself on to the end of the sentence almost before he realizes it.  He gives a genial smile, and continues.  "What's your name?"

"I'm Alexander," the boy introduces quietly, staring at him with wide eyes so obviously fighting hope.

"No last name?" George asks, and the kid shakes his head.

"None that you could pronounce.  My mom gave me that one so that... It was so I would have a name you were able to use, in case I ever needed..."

"I understand," Washington soothes, then realizes that he might be less intimidating sitting down, so quickly seats himself some distance away on the sofa.

"...From what I recall, Alexander," Washington probes, ever mindful of Martha's presence, "Your mother had quite the singing voice.  Did you inherit that particular...Talent?"

Alexander fidgets slightly, unsure of what the correct answer might be.  He decides on the truth, though doesn't miss the way the man in front of him dances around subjects and glances often at his wife where she sits on the setee.

"No sir.  I'm more of a persuasive speaker, though I'm more nervous, this far from home..."

George thinks that beneath the baggy shirt it's probably all too easy to count Alexander's ribs, and wishes for a moment that the lad _was_ more convincing away from large bodies of water, if only to ask for food when hungry.

He remembers, then, watching his first crew die, and shakes the thought from his head.  No one should have that power.

"Alright then, Son," George seems unable to control the warmth in his own voice.  "Why don't I show you to your room?  Martha and I have a lot to discuss after such a big shock, and I'm sure you'd like to get settled..."

"Sir?"

"Yes, Son?"

"What's your name?"

Alexander is blushing furiously, though it makes sense that his mother wouldn't have been able to tell him, not knowing herself.  George wonders why no one else would, but he supposes that the gossip well was running dry, and no one wanted to ruin the latest piece by explaining to a lost boy asking after him that Washington couldn't have children.

"George.  Washington is my last name; I suppose you'll get it too, now."

"Washington," the kid repeats to himself as they start their walk.  "George Washington.  Alexander Washington."  He crinkles his nose up at the sound of the last, and George hides a grin.

"You'll get used to it Alex," he assures as they turn down a hall, and the boy's face brightens.

"Alex Washington.  Alexander Wash.  Alex Wash."

"First names only," the Lord tells him with a chuckle at the bedroom's door, taking out his wand to transfigure the dusty nursery into a proper bedroom.  "Outside of sports teams, last names don't really get shortened."

"Sports teams?" Alex asks, and Washington thinks that his life just became infinitely more interesting.  He's wanted to be a father for ages, and prays to Merlin that he'll have the patience to do this right.

" _Tomorrow_ , Alexander.  Explore your suite and get settled."

The boy gives a grim nod, and it prickles at Washington's heart, just a little.

"Goodnight," he tells him quietly.

"Goodnight," Alexander parrots, looking pleased at himself for understanding that simple ritual.

Pride tingles in George's chest, and it gives him the strength to go and face his irate wife.


	5. Chapter 5

"That child is _not_ your _son_ , George!"

 

"His name, would that you would bother to use it, is Alexander, and he's the only child I've got."  It's a cruel jibe, implying that their lack of children is her fault, when he knows the opposite is true.  It is just that the proof that it's his fault, asleep tucked into his new room, can very easily appear to be proof that it isn't.

 

"He looks nothing like you!  You are not so desperate for an heir that you would take a lying urchin in off the streets!"

 

"You do not think that he looks like me because you do not want to consider the truth!  I have never been unfaithful to you in our decade of marriage; you have no reason to be so upset!"

 

"I have _every_ reason to be upset!  You barely know that boy, and already you're taking his side against mine!"

 

"There are no _sides_ Martha!  There is only my family, except that now it is a little bit bigger.  You wanted to be a mother; well now we have a son!"

 

"I wanted _us_ to have a child _together_."

 

"Then we will raise this child together!  It is not so difficult as you are making it out to be.  He is foreign; there is much he does not know and will need help learning if he is to take up the mantle of the name Washington.  I ask that you would give him a chance.  Please, let this bring us closer, instead of driving us apart."

 

"...It's late.  I think I shall retire."

 

"Martha-"

 

"No, George.  I need to think about this.  You should think about this, before just jumping in."

 

"You are, of course, right."

 

For a moment, Martha looks relieved, but then the Lord Washington continues speaking, and her annoyance returns.

 

"There is much to think about.  He'll need proper clothes, and tutors, and a wand.  A broom, of course, and potion making supplies.  Furniture of his own, rather than just transfigured.  Perhaps a pet, once he gets more settled.  He's older than a first year, though small.  Perhaps second or third year, in age.  He'll have a lot of catching up to do, to be enrolled by OWL year..."

 

"Are you not even going to have a blood test done by the goblins?" she demands haughtily.

 

Washington thinks about the other half of Alexander's parentage, and knows that an official blood test is out of the question.  It would reveal more than needs to be known.

 

"I do not need a blood test to recognize my own son," he declares firmly.  "If it would make you feel better, we could have the family tapestry test him," he adds, because that should be harmless enough.  A wizard's family tapestry, after all, wouldn't put his boy in the creature registry.

 

There is a protectiveness the likes of which Washington is unused to, settling heavy as stone and strong as steel in his gut.  If Alexander is found out, he will be discriminated against as more than just a half-blood.  There will be laws restricting his opportunities, and hatred because of who is mother is.  To say nothing of the fact that the boy was not born of natural means, but instead a magical deal.  Children born of love potions faced enough taunts.  George did not want to consider what school would be like for Alexander, should his heritage ever be found out.

 

Alexander would be, the Lord decided, to the eyes of the wizarding public, nothing less than-- _No_. 

 

Nothing _other_ than his half-blood immigrant son, discovered and accepted as heir to the Washington name and fortune.


	6. Chapter 6

Martha Washington likes to consider herself a strong woman; the model of a powerful pureblood lady.  No woman is ever prepared to have her husband stolen from her.

  
Alright, perhaps that was a dramatic outlook.

  
Still, the little runt of a wizard who had taken over the nursery her and her husband had chosen together was _frustrating_.

  
"Be sensible Martha, it's the largest available room in the wing.  A growing boy needs the space much more than an imaginary baby," George had said, having the house elves move the toys and furniture to another room and bring Alexander's new things in.

  
Pale yellow was replaced with murky green, and stuffed pegasus with- nothing.

  
"I like it.  I've never had a stuffed animal before."

  
There it was.  The frustration.  How could she possibly bring herself to hate such a doe eyed little thing when he was clutching a color changing plushie like it was the friend he'd always wanted?

  
How _old_ was he?  Shouldn't he be taller?

  
Well, she'd have the elves leave some cocoa on his bedside table.  Chocolate was a good soother, and he was halfway across the world and surrounded by the unfamiliar.  Sweets would do the boy good.

  
Not that she was fond of him.

  
"Goodnight, Alexander," she called as she passed his room.

  
"Goodnight, Step-Mother!" he yelled.  "See you at breakfast!"

  
That squeezing in her chest meant _nothing_.


	7. Chapter 7

"Step-Mother, will you be coming with us to town today?"

  
"Didn't you get everything you needed yesterday?"

  
"No, just the furniture.  It was all so strange."

  
"Yes, I suppose magic would be.  You wouldn't have grown up with an expanding bordeaux wardrobe."

  
"Just being able to buy things... Father says the clothes I got fitted yesterday will be delivered when they're done.  I'm in robes this morning.  They're very swishy.  It's nice.  It reminds me of the ocean, except dry.  Everything's so dry here; even the air is dryer.  I thought that nothing could be drier than air, but then I came here.  It barely even smells like salt..."

  
Oh dear.  He was getting homesick.  What if he started crying?  Martha didn't deal well with criers.

  
"Are you very fond of the ocean, Alexander?"

  
"The ocean is my home."

  
"Yes, your father feels just the same.  You really are a bit like him.  In his younger years he was a spitfire as well."

  
"Spitfire?"

  
"I'm glad to see you two getting along," Lord Washington interrupts with a smile as he enters the dining room.  "What have you two been discussing in my absence?"

  
"I was asking Step-Mother if she'd come with us today."

  
"I'm not sure that she-"

'  
"Yes, a trip to Diagon sounds lovely.  We'll have to stop by Madame Malkin's again, of course.  I doubt your father thought to get you any formal wear.  He very purposefully forgets that dress robes exist whenever he can."

  
"After I get my wand, though, right?  Father says I can't learn any magic without it."

  
"Alright, spitfire.  After we get your wand."

  
"Do brooms really fly?"

  
"Not without help."

  
"Can I fly one?"

  
"I doubt it," she mutters under her breath, smiling innocently at her husbands responding glare.

  
"You won't know until you try," she amends.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, gotta shimmy back in time a bit to get a looksee at that first shopping trip.

His first day in Diagon Alley at his father's side, Alexander would never admit to being nervous.  He feels like everyone is staring at him, and his strange clothes aren't helping.

  
He tries to hide behind Lord Washington, but that only makes the stares turn sharper.   Some of the people shuffling around in their strange cloth garb must recognize him from when he was looking for answers with little more than a picture.

  
"That's the boy," they whisper, "Could it be?  He isn't Lord Washington's...Looks nothing like him-"

  
Alexander glares fiercely, and for a moment the whispers pause.  Then it only gets worse.

  
"It _is_!  Those eyes, they're the spitting image!  See the way he stands, too.  Must get his complexion from his mother..."

  
Washington notices the hubbub making Alex uncomfortable, and suddenly seems to stand twice as tall.  The glare is much more intimidating coming from the Lord of a Noble House, and suddenly the people who were gossiping have important places to be.

  
A few of them trip in their scrambling hurry, and it isn't anything but their own fault.  Washington slips his wand back into his sleeve.

  
"Perhaps we should go get you fitted for some robes before beginning our search for proper furniture," he muses, and Alexander nods vehemently.

  
He wasn't nervous or uncomfortable before, and he certainly isn't relieved now.  He's faced much worse than whispers.  Really, growing up with his aunts, he should be used to them.

"We'll head to Madame Malkin's, then.  Don't dally, Son.  I know there's plenty to see, but you'll have more than enough time to see it.

"Yessir!" Alexander agrees with an enthusiastic grin, and decides he'll worry about the strangely shaped treat people are eating later.  First, proper clothes.  Robes, for a wizard, because here that's something to be proud of.


	9. Chapter 9

The measuring tape had started measuring Alex, his legs and arms and torso.  The way it was zipping around kind of made the half-siren want to swat at it, but he didn't think that would end well, so instead just scrunched his nose up and the thing and held very still.

  
Lord Washington tried not to chuckle at his son's antics.

  
Alex chose robes in oceanic colors, mostly the greens of his Caribbean home.

  
He clenches a fist at the sight of the murkier tones, Madame Malkin's suggestion of "A nice olive, to go well with your skin tone," bringing to mind his last year with his mother.

  
Humans were _awful_.  They littered, spreading trash and grime, and they _stole_.  All those months of watching his mother getting hungrier and sicker, while James spent more and more time on land with the humans.

  
"My father's up there.  Yours is too, probably.  'Course, you've got a freaky dad to go with your freaky self.  You'll probably never fit in."

  
After that fight, Alexander hadn't minded seeing little of his younger brother.

  
Muggles were all awful, anyway.

  
"Not that one," Alex says, quietly, staring at the floor and wondering if robes will really be enough to help him fit in here.

  
Suddenly his father's large hand is resting on a shoulder, the steady grip grounding Alexander in the present.

  
His aunts and their sneers didn't matter, and the little town of overfishing coral-stealers didn't matter either.  His mother had wanted him to be able to survive when there wasn't enough food to hunt under water, and he would.

  
James probably would to, but never mind him.

  
Alex had a dad, now.  He wouldn't be ostracized for being a boy, or having legs.  Those things were normal on land.

  
He just had to be careful about hiding-

  
"Would you like to try and find something to change into and leave in?"

  
" _No_!  ...I mean, no thank you.  I'll wait for the fitted items."

  
"They'll be delivered to your room when they're done, Alexander," Washington assures, eyebrows crinkled at the outburst.  He would ask about it, once they were back in the privacy of their home.

  
For now, he had promised Alexander an explanation about sports, and George wasn't so blind that he hadn't seen Alex looking at ice cream cones as if he had never seen anything so strange.

  
"Shall we continue with our shopping?" he prods, and Alexander smiles that toothy grin again.

  
"Yes, Father."

  
That squeezing in Lord Washington's chest means _everything_.


End file.
